


in her eyes you see the morning

by feelingflowsbothways



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, POV Allison Argent, References to Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-11
Updated: 2013-10-11
Packaged: 2017-12-29 02:58:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1000048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feelingflowsbothways/pseuds/feelingflowsbothways
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Allison expects the first day back at school to be awful, but it’s not really. She has an awkward encounter with Scott in class but Lydia exerts what’s still intact of her intimidating popularity to make a kid swap seats so that they’re sitting together in the back. She takes hold of Allison’s hand as she drops awkwardly into the seat at the desk adjacent to hers and squeezes it for a moment, quietly reassuring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in her eyes you see the morning

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is set in an alternate season three where jennifer blake and the alpha pack never rolled into town and therefore erica & boyd are alive
> 
> proofread/beta’d by _my_ beautiful lydia (ao3 user: [timewaslost](http://archiveofourown.org/users/timewaslost))
> 
> title from the joshua radin song 'in her eyes'

Lydia is the first person Allison sees when she gets back from France.

She turns up at her house unannounced, with the intention of surprising her.

“Paris sends its love,” she says with a small upward curve of her lips as the redhead swings open her front door, holding up and jostling a silver gift bag emblazoned with the Eiffel Tower that she’d hurriedly picked up at the airport.

Lydia takes the gift and pulls Allison inside without a flicker of astonishment to indicate she’d hadn’t been expecting her.

“Love the hair,” she says, “Very 62nd British Academy Film Awards Marion Cotillard.”

“Thanks,” Allison smiles, tucking some behind her ear, “Had it done in Versailles. Felt like I needed a change.”

Needed to take control of _something_ after feeling almost completely powerless and on the verge of terrified for months, more scared of someone finding out how she felt than anything else. Lydia’s hallway is lined with mirrors and Allison catches her own reflection for a second, startled by how dark the bags under her eyes look.

_Jetlag_ , she tells herself, and looks away.

There’s the rustling of tissue paper behind her and she turns just as Lydia asks: “Is this Chanel?” and Allison laughs.

Moving around constantly as a kid she’d never really made any lasting friendships, on her last birthday before moving to Beacon Hills she’d gotten an underwhelming total of eighteen congratulatory Facebook wallposts. She’d definitely never had someone to bring souvenirs back home to and the moment feels sweet and significant to her. Even better because Lydia is just being her usual self, in her house which is exactly as Allison remembers it; it makes her chest swell with affection, warm with the thought that she finally knows someone well enough to tell that they haven’t changed at all in the months she hasn’t seen them.

Lydia is looking at her expectantly and Allison raises her shoulders in a lazy shrug.

“ _Je t'en prie_.”

*

Lydia takes one brief look at her new bedroom and says, “No, this won’t do.”

She sweeps a critical eye over the room, lingering disapprovingly on the sallow beige of the walls, and clucks her tongue against the roof of her mouth with a precision that says she’s made up her mind about something.

“We’re going to Home Depot.”

Allison doesn’t protest and once they get there they wander through the aisles together until they get to the paint colour samples and then they separate a little to look at different ones.

“Pink? I don’t know, isn’t that a bit childish?” Allison complains as Lydia holds up a tri-coloured sheet for her approval.

“Allison,” Lydia tuts with a warm tone of familiarity, “Pink is a scientific phenomenon. It technically doesn’t even exist, it’s the absence of green in the leftovers of white light, representing the gap on the spectrum between red and violet where the invisible rays like infrared and ultraviolet sit.”

Allison arches one eyebrow, “I’m looking for a colour to change up my walls, not remind me of the infinite unknowableness of our universe.”

She hesitates over the greys, notes the disapproving crease in Lydia's forehead from the corner of her eye and holds up several swatches of blue instead.

“How about these?”

Lydia sighs as though she’s been asked to choose a new colour for The White House rather than her best friend’s bedroom and concedes, “Fine, we’ll compromise”

They end up with six different paint samples and at least double as many colour swatches because Lydia isn’t that much of a fan of compromise when she’s the one expected to do it and Allison doesn’t care because the last time she was choosing a new colour for her bedroom walls she was doing it alone in yet another strange city where she had no friends and no guarantee that she’d make any to even see them (she hasn’t been able to drive past the house yet, is already planning a new route to avoid it on the way to school tomorrow). It’s just nice to have someone invested.

She looks over at Lydia to distract herself from the memory that the last person she tested paint colours with was her Mom, not ready to unpack what she’s filed away in the back of her mind as being too traumatic to deal with so far. Lydia has the overhead mirror in the passenger’s side of the car flipped down and is primping idly, making faces and pouting at her own reflection as she applies strawberry flavoured lipgloss.

Allison’s eyes linger on her lips.

They’re plump, and glossy, and very, very pink.

*

Allison expects the first day back at school to be awful, but it’s not really. She has an awkward encounter with Scott in class but Lydia exerts what’s still intact of her intimidating popularity to make a kid swap seats so that they’re sitting together in the back. She takes hold of Allison’s hand as she drops awkwardly into the seat at the desk adjacent to hers and squeezes it for a moment, quietly reassuring. Allison squeezes back, and then rests her chin in the palm of her hand, smiles to herself.

The teacher is rambling on about the outline for the semester and Allison finds it difficult to concentrate. She’s acutely aware of Lydia sitting next to her, sketching something in the margins of her workbook. The giant windows along the wall are filling the room light and from this angle Lydia is backlit. It makes her profile look soft, her hair, arranged in perfectly sculpted curls cascading around her shoulders and down her back, shines an even warmer red than usual. She looks _ethereal_.

“Did you get that Miss Argent?” the balding teacher asks, pushing his square rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose and staring measuredly at her.

Allison blushes, stutters, “Sorry, no, I was-”

“Distracted. Yes. Well, perhaps you would be so kind as to give me your attention for the last twenty minutes of class.”

He turns back to the chalkboard and Allison looks down in complete embarrassment as giggles ripple throughout the classroom. When she looks up she catches Lydia glaring venomously at the loudest perpetrator, and Scott is giving her a timid but empathetic smile.

When the bell rings for the next class she leaves with Lydia by her side and the knowledge that if a moment’s embarrassment is the worst thing to happen to her that day she’s doing a hell of a lot better than the last school year.

*

For the first few weeks back in Beacon Hills Allison is on edge. She feels poised for disaster to strike at any second, and since there are only a few people left that she cares about and it seems it’s mostly those closest to her that get hurt she gets a little more protective than usual. Her Dad, of course, can take care of himself, but she’s watchful with Lydia.

Lydia, who notes the small armoury hidden in her locker and doesn’t say anything about it. Who excels, as usual, at everything, including winning back her queen bee social status. The crowds part for her in the hallways out of respect now rather than worry that they’ll catch psychosis by proxy. People move out of Allison’s way too, because she’s Lydia’s best friend, and everyone is friendly enough to her, but she’s not the new girl anymore, not anyone of particular note on her own merit nor as approachable as she used to be.

There’s only one person besides Lydia that Allison really specifically wants to talk to anyway but there hasn’t been an opportunity. She and Scott, organically and without malice, have drifted apart. She notices him and Stiles sitting with Erica, Isaac and Boyd in class and feels a little sorry because she doesn’t know when or how they came to a truce. She sees them sitting at the same table in the cafeteria too and likes to imagine that she might be welcome there, but she and Lydia don’t eat in the cafeteria anymore so she doesn’t get the chance to test it out. They eat outside, just the two of them, because Lydia gets tired of dealing with everyone being nice out of empty obligation.

“They like me because I’m ‘popular’,” she explains one day, “But none of them really _know_ me.

There’s a silence where Lydia is obviously deep in thought, her face mostly serene but brow a little furrowed. Allison eats her salad quietly and studies her, knows she’ll speak when she wants to, and waits.

“Allison, I love you. You’re my first real friend,” Lydia says after what feels like five minutes but was probably two, and then she goes back to eating as well.

She doesn’t say it sadly, just plainly. Matter-of-fact.

The same way Allison replies, “You’re mine too.”

*

A few months pass, and nothing exciting really happens in Allison’s life and it’s good. It’s exactly what she needs. She immerses herself in being a normal teenager for a while and focuses on studying and hanging out with Lydia and making the new apartment feel like home.

Lydia is _amazing_. They talk about anything and everything Allison feels capable of talking about and Lydia listens with a compassion that even Allison hadn’t really known she had, although she’d seen glimpses of it sometimes when Lydia talked about Jackson. They don’t talk about Jackson any more. Allison knows Lydia is working him out of her system with fierce dedication to school work and sometimes casual sex. The latter she can’t stand because it takes away time they could be spending together, makes her irrationally jealous, but she never expresses that sentiment to Lydia.

She’s vaguely aware of the supernatural goings on at the edges of Beacon Hills life. Her Dad takes great care to keep her oblivious but Allison’s trained herself to be observant and she keeps herself sharp and battle-ready just in case. Some days at school she notes Scott and his friends looking a little weary and worn around the edges, and she can tell they’re recovering from a fight. Just past halfway into the semester Stiles is absent for a whole week and he returns the next wearing a cast on his arm, chaperoned by a scowling Derek Hale, and he and Allison exchange a knowing look as they pass each other in the hall. Later she’s one of the few people he lets sign his cast. She doodles on it in math (draws next to a crude and markedly unflattering caricature of Peter Hale dated and signed by Erica Reyes) while he says, “I’m not mad at you for breaking my best friend’s heart anymore. I think he’s kind of over it too.”

So she and Scott have their first real conversation since the break-up. It’s stilted, but not too awkward, and things are okay between them again.

“You know if you need me,” Allison begins one day as they’re walking out of class, and Scott knows that she’s offering her tactical help and warrior skills and finishes, “I know where to find you.”

Lydia meets her outside in the hall, sparing Scott a dismissive glance and linking her arm with Allison’s as soon as she’s in reach.

“Come on,” she says, “Let’s skip out, go to the mall. I have my Dad’s credit card. Let’s go be a stupid teenage stereotype for an afternoon.”

They do, and it’s perfect. They take silly photobooth pictures to commemorate the occasion and Allison tacks them up in the left hand corner of the mirror on her vanity so she can see them every day.

*

Allison knows in an objective but not excessively vain way that she’s attractive. People hit on her all the time, she gets several offers for dates over the course of the semester but she turns them all down. It’s not that she isn’t interested in pursuing a new relationship exactly it’s just that none of the people who ask are of particular interest to her.

There’s only one person of late who has caught her interest. She’s noticed her eyes unwillingly catching on the minute details of them; the cupid’s bow of their lips, the arch of their cheekbone, the curve where they fill out their clothes. She thinks of them in the abstract, not as an object of tangible desire. Labels them ‘off limits’ and refuses to think about them for weeks until one night she’s a little tired and a lot sexually frustrated and as she slips her hand between her thighs she gives in and lets herself picture what she wants to.

Wide hazel eyes and full lips that she imagines kissing, breasts which she imagines herself cupping, a collarbone she's seen bared countless times that she now pictures herself pressing a trail of heated kisses to while perfectly manicured hands scrape up her back. A soft face framed by strawberry blonde hair. She brings herself off to the imagined taste of strawberry flavoured lipgloss and falls asleep feeling pleasantly tingly, not at all as shocked as she expected herself to be after admitting the attraction to herself.

When she sees Lydia the next morning she feels a little guilty and busies herself with the contents of her locker, hiding her face behind the door while she flushes a little red at the sight of her. She takes a deep breath and steels herself when Lydia greets her as usual, lets her hand linger on the blue locker door as she shuts it so she won’t be tempted to touch any of the places she fantasised about the night before, and turns to greet her in kind. Allison lets herself look at her, _really_ look at her and acknowledge the feelings that have always been there, bubbling just under the surface. It feels obvious now, just another thing stored away in the back of her mind for her to deal with when she felt ready.

Lydia notices her staring and looks back, gives her a private, intimate smile.

“What, do I have lipstick on my teeth?

Her voice is so light and inherently sultry and Allison’s chest constricts as her heart flutters and she feels suddenly, utterly out of her depth.

“No, you look perfect,” she says with a smile that feels shocked out of her, “As always.”

Lydia hums her acknowledgement and then turns on the heel of her Mary Jane pumps as the bell rings, starts walking off to class with a brief, “See you later!”

Allison has French first period, at the opposite end of the school, but she lingers for a moment to smell the sweet vanilla and jasmine scent Lydia’s been prone to wearing lately. It takes a second for her to realise what she’s doing and snap herself out of it. Feeling foolish and a little lost Allison drifts to class, clutching her books to her chest like a shield against judgement in case anyone noticed her inhaling Lydia’s perfume. She spends most of French staring idly out of the window and wondering what Lydia would do if she acted on her attraction.

She doesn’t have to wonder long.

*

Lydia’s parents are away for some sort of business conference so she invites Allison to stay with her for the weekend. They’re tipsy. Giggly and giddy and falling over each other, in hysterics about something they can’t really remember and laughing more for the sake of it. It was probably something to do with school, their books are strewn over the floor, worksheets that had slipped out of one of Lydia’s folders spread everywhere. Allison’s brain feels bubbly like the champagne Lydia had raided from her Mom’s stash with the excuse that “It’s a Friday night! There’s a Jersey Shore marathon on!”

(“Isn’t that a bit beneath you, intellectually speaking?” Allison had asked and Lydia had looked at her as disapprovingly as she would a beige bedroom wall; “Allison, I can be a future Nobel laureate and still enjoy trashy reality television, the two are not mutually exclusive.”)

“Let me up! I’m going to pour us another,” Lydia says while she extricates herself from the couch, catching the stem of Allison’s glass as she goes.

Allison watches her walk away shamelessly, emboldened by the alcohol and the sense memory of Lydia’s warm thigh pressed against hers, skirt riding dangerously high. She adjusts herself on the plush seat, drawing one of her feet under her and calling out to ask if Lydia needs any help.

“I got it!” Lydia giggles, gliding back into the room with a glass in each hand and the bottle under one arm.

Allison reaches up for her glass and Lydia slips on a stray piece of paper, a gasp of air punched out of her in surprise, and promptly spills both glasses down Allison’s front and on the couch. Allison yelps in shock and jumps up, bumping into Lydia and knocking the glasses out of her hands.

“Oh god I’m sorry!” Lydia says breathlessly as she rescues the bottle from where she’d caught it between her arm and side of her waist, bending to put it down on the coffee table as Allison goes to pick up the glass flutes. Their heads bump together with a solid thunk that echoes in the room and sends Lydia into further fits of giggles.

“I’m sorry!” Allison echoes, voice pitchy with adrenaline.

“Look at you!” Lydia says in response, breathless with laughter and pointing at Allison’s shirt, “Thank god it wasn’t red wine.”

The shock is rapidly wearing off and leaving Allison intensely aware of the uncomfortable sensation of alcohol sticking the fabric of her shirt to her skin. Lydia must read it on her face because she says, “Ok, shower time! I’ll get the couch later,” and leads her upstairs to her bedroom.

Allison starts to strip out of her t-shirt off as soon as she’s in Lydia’s room, peels it up over her head and tosses it on the floor.

“Hey!” Lydia starts to object and then stops.

When Allison turns to see why the other girl is staring at her with laser focus, mouth still hanging a little open. Her eyes drop to Allison’s chest as soon as she’s facing her and she swallows, Allison tracking the movement of her throat and suddenly hyperaware of both how bare her stomach is and how close to Lydia she’s standing.

“Was this an intentional ploy to get me out of my clothes?” she asks flippantly, because Lydia’s seen her in just her bra plenty of times and it’s never meant anything until now, because now she wants Lydia in a different way than before, and she’s trying to make a joke of it so that Lydia won’t hear the genuine undertone to the question.

Lydia doesn’t laugh. The silence between them is heavy and pointed and Allison panics, moves to get past Lydia. The other girl grabs her arm and manoeuvres her back so that she’s standing in front of her.

“Isn’t the shower that way?” Allison asks weakly.

Lydia still hasn’t said anything, is swaying very slightly on her feet, perhaps still a little tipsy from the champagne. Allison senses goosebumps on her skin where Lydia is touching her and feels suddenly quite sober.

“Lydia?” she asks, because she’s staring at Allison intently as though trying to gauge something from her face. Or maybe its wishful thinking, Allison tries to tell herself, maybe she’s just appreciating Allison’s bra. It’s new. Blue and intricately lacy.

“Do I have lipstick on my-” she starts to ask but can’t continue because out of nowhere Lydia’s lips are on hers. She’s kissing her suddenly, fervently, walking her backwards until Allison feels the inside of her knees hit the edge of Lydia’s bed. Allison is too stunned to kiss back, until she feels Lydia’s tongue testing the seam of her lips and then she’s suddenly on board, opening them to suck Lydia’s bottom lip between hers for a moment and then allowing Lydia to deepen the kiss. She feels giddy again immediately, lets herself fall backward onto the bed and drags Lydia with her, on top of her, and Lydia adjusts so she’s caging Allison’s body against the bed. Allison squirms underneath her. They kiss like that for a while longer, passionately, until Allison feels a hand land on her breast and is vaulted back to reality.

She pulls away at once, pushes at Lydia’s shoulder so that the other girl sits up above her. Lydia looks disgruntled at being stopped, leans forward to resume, but Allison stops her.

“Lydia, what are we doing?”

“Kissing,” Lydia huffs.

“No, I mean, we’re friends,” Allison says almost pleadingly. The words come out more clumsily than she meant them to, she can tell by the capital ‘l’ Look that Lydia is giving her.

“Yes, we are, and I wouldn’t want to jeopardise that,” Lydia says, and then laces their hands together, pushes them back over Allison head and holds them down against the pillows. She leans forward and kisses the hollow at the base of Allison’s throat, working her way up her neck while Allison writhes underneath her and capturing her earlobe lightly between her teeth. She lets go to whisper directly into her ear, “But personally I think I’m being _very_ friendly.”

Allison bucks under her and groans, “That isn’t what I meant,” and Lydia relents. She sits up and back so that she’s straddling Allison’s waist with her hands splayed over her stomach. Her gaze is direct and focused, but Allison feels a little hazy.

“You’ve been looking at me all night,” she starts, and before Allison can object continues, “Which is fine because I’ve been looking at you for months.”

“What?” Allison asks in a rush of air, feeling like she’s been punched in the stomach. She moves to sit up but Lydia puts a hand on her shoulders so she hesitates and leans back on her elbows and forearms. Lydia is smiling at her in a fond but slightly confused way.

“This cannot be news to you Allison,” she says, “I’ve flirted with you since the day we met.”

And she has, but she’s like that with everyone so Allison dutifully informs her, “You flirt with everyone.”

“Yes,” Lydia sighs with an exasperated roll of her eyes, “But I meant it with you.”

“Oh.”

Allison lets the knowledge roll over her for a moment and then experimentally jostles Lydia further upward, moves one foot so it’s flat against the bed and pushes her thigh up under Lydia’s skirt, between her legs. Lydia sighs in appreciation this time and grinds down to meet her. The fabric which comes into contact with Allison’s skin is wet.

“ _Oh_ ,” she breathes out a little louder, and Lydia’s eyes practically glow.

“I take this to mean I can kiss you again,” Lydia smirks, one eyebrow raised in cheeky imitation of the way Allison does it.

Instead of answering Allison reaches up to twine her fingers in her hair and pulls her back down, mouths clashing together heatedly and with dedication. Her fingers scrape down Lydia’s back as the other girl demonstrates exceptional prowess with her mouth, and Allison wants to giggle at that because of course she’d be amazing at kissing, Lydia excels at everything. She grabs the curve of Lydia’s ass and pulls them closer together, grinding up and punching a breath out of the girl on top of her. Lydia moves her lips from Allison’s mouth down to her collarbone and starts sucking deep purple marks into the skin there. She slips her hands under Allison, between her and the bed, and struggles for a second with the clasp on her bra. She succeeds and Allison stops groping her ass long enough for Lydia to tug it off and toss it away, immediately grabbing Allison’s bared breasts and kneading them, flicking her thumbs over the already peaked nipples. Allison groans sweetly and then takes a moment to gasp “You as well.” Lydia moves so that Allison can pull her sweater off and wrestle with her bra too and in moments they’re pressed together bare-chested, kissing again.

Allison’s hands are clutching the curve of Lydia’s waist, thumbs rubbing circles into her skin while Lydia has her arms pressed against the bed on either side of Allison’s face, one hand wrapped in her hair. They kiss with tongue and teeth and heavy breath until Allison has to roll her face to the side to breathe. It’s gotten impossibly hot, especially where they’re pressed along each other’s fronts, and she wants very much to take off her jeans. She slides her hand between them to unbutton her jeans and brushes against Lydia in the process.

She arcs up, her spine curving beautifully and trapping Allison’s hand in the slick space between their abdomens. Allison brushes against her again deliberately and Lydia falls forward, bites at her neck without any real force.

“Need to…” Allison mumbles, trailing her other hand down Lydia’s back, “ _Jeans_.”

Lydia moves completely off of her then and Allison lets out a whimper of protest as she stands up.

“I’m not _going_ anywhere,” Lydia laughs as she shucks her skirt off, moves to the end of the bed and puts a knee on the covers between Allison’s spread thighs while she works at the buttons on her jeans and then strips her out of them. There’s a pause then where they just look at each other, acknowledge that they’re almost naked. Allison’s underwear match her bra and Lydia’s are, unsurprisingly, pink and only a tiny scrap of silky fabric. Allison’s head is spinning a little. Her lips are swollen, the bottom one particularly pink and swollen. She feels debauched and Lydia hasn’t even really touched her yet.

Lydia leans over her again and Allison hooks a leg around her waist, hips flexing, and Lydia starts kissing her again. All over her chest and down the centre of Allison’s body. She kisses Allison with an intensity which makes Allison feel like she’s indulging Lydia rather than the other way around. She drapes one arm between Lydia’s shoulder blades and runs her nails lightly over the skin there, fists the other hand in her hair. Lydia’s hands are resting gently on Allison’s sides as she works her way down her torso, biting occasionally and smiling against her when it makes Allison jerk, her back bowed.

She works her way out of Allison’s grasp when she reaches the lower half of Allison’s stomach and kneels on the floor by the edge of the bed, moves her own hands down to the brunette’s hips. She kisses very deliberately at the skin just below Allison’s belly button and then moves down, over the blue lace fabric. Allison shudders and squeezes her eyes shut as Lydia sucks briefly at the material and when she lets out a warm breath between her legs Allison cries out and arches off the bed, hand flying backward to grab at the headboard.

Lydia lifts her head and slides back up Allison’s body, letting the point of her chin drag between Allison’s ribs before meeting her in desperate kiss.

“Do you still feel tipsy?” she asks breathlessly as she pulls back and Allison does, but she thinks it’s probably the effect of Lydia rather than champagne and she tells her as much. Lydia hums and then kneels at the edge of the bed again, hooks her fingers into the waistband of Allison’s underwear and pauses, “But you definitely want this? I have your full consent?”

Allison’s head falls back deeper against the pillows and she groans, pushing a the heel of one hand against her forehead and sliding sweaty fingers into her hair, “Yes, you have my consent.”

Lydia sucks one last kiss to the skin just below her bellybutton and teases the underwear down her legs, kisses her way up her calves, lavishes both thighs with more kisses and gentle bites (Allison is coherent enough to think briefly that she’ll be finding traces of Lydia on her for days). She pauses for a moment to bring Allison closer to the edge of the bed and pull one of her legs over Lydia’s shoulder. Then, she moves her attentions north, and neither of them speak for a while.

Later, when Allison’s breathing has slowed down and her pulse feels almost back to normal, she returns the favour with enthusiasm.

_*_

Allison wakes it's with the feeling of a slightly dry mouth and someone draped over her. She’s disoriented for a moment, twists her head to look at the wall and registers the fuchsia colour of it and suddenly the memories of last night come flooding back. She becomes all at once aware of where she is and who she’s touching. The strange weight on her chest is Lydia’s arm draped over her ribs, her cheek tickles where strawberry blonde hair brushes against it, and there’s a distinctively female leg tangled between her own. She works her way gently out from under Lydia and struggles out of bed.

Deciding that she needs a strong cup of coffee she rummages through Lydia’s dresser for something to wear and then makes her way downstairs to the kitchen; the coffee machine is a high end deluxe model that Allison has no idea how to work so she puts some milk in a mug instead and sticks it in the microwave for a minute, flicks the kettle on to boil and starts looking through the cupboards for the instant granules. She’s reaching up to the one above the dishwasher when she hears footsteps behind her and, moments later, feels arms wrap delicately around her waist.

“Are these mine?” Lydia asks as she runs a thumb along the small sliver of skin showing between the hem of the plain grey t-shirt and the waistband of the black lace underwear Allison had grabbed from her room.

Allison shivers a little, leans back against her and breathes out, “Yeah, I had to borrow something.”

“They look good on you,” Lydia says as she presses a kiss to one of the lovebites she’d left on Allison’s shoulders last night. The microwave beeps and Lydia moves away to open it, smiling when she sees what’s inside.

“Are you making coffee?” she asks with her voice a little rough from both sleep and amusement, “Why don’t you use the machine?”

Allison had been planning their conversation in her head while she tried to remember the layout of Lydia’s kitchen. She’d planned to be smooth and cool and collected but as she watches Lydia take her mug from the microwave and go about turning on the coffee machine, looking calm and content and not nearly as flustered as Allison feels, she can’t help herself and accidentally blurts out, “What did last night mean for us?”

Because there had been a mention of not jeopardising their friendship but no talk of what would actually happen to their relationship afterward.

Lydia turns to look at her, puts her hands behind her against the marble countertop and gives Allison a steady, level look, “I’m not the biggest fan of labels,” she sighs eventually, nose wrinkling a little, “But let’s face it, we were basically girlfriends already.”

She delivers it in a way so typical of her- there’s no hesitation, no trace of a question there. It’s matter of fact and easy and Allison just grins at her in response because, yeah, they basically were.

She feels her whole face light up and the warm implication of their new situation spreads all the way down to her toes as she says, “Okay, but let’s not wait another year to have sex again.”

Lydia’s gaze is predatory in an instant. She eases herself off the counter and settles her hands on Allison’s hips instead, looks down appreciatively at the swell of her chest in the generously loose shirt.

“Do we really need coffee?” she murmurs, tipping her face upward to meet Allison’s, “Because I can think of some more creative ways to wake ourselves up.”

“Enlighten me,” Allison smirks, already pulling her in the direction of her bedroom.

 

Lydia enlightens her all weekend.

*

The bell is ringing for lunch and Lydia has Allison pushed up against her locker, is leaning into her and holding her there with gentle hands. They’re kissing, lazily, exploratory. Allison has her hand in Lydia’s hair and is easing her head back to deepen the kiss when someone cat calls and Lydia pulls away to tell them to fuck off. They’re about to get back to it when someone pointedly clears their throat beside them and they turn their heads to see who.

Scott and Stiles. Stiles grinning ear to ear and Scott flushing bright red, awkwardly adjusting his backpack strap.

“So the rumours are true,” Stiles says, sounding delighted.

Scott rubs his neck uncomfortably and looks away, “Yeah, this is weird.”

Before either Allison or Lydia can object Stiles turns to him and scoffs, “Weirder than the fact that every full moon you grow fur and fangs and get all ‘grrr’,” he pauses to hold up his hands, fingers bent in imitation of claws and teeth bared in a snarl, “werewolfy?”

Scott opens his mouth to respond but Stiles continues, “Weirder than the fact that _her_ ex was a shapeshifting hell-bent-on-revenge demon lizard? Weirder than the fact that it’s been a month and I’m still finding selkie blood stains my clothes? And that stuff is neon green, by the way, try explaining _that_ to your parent.”

“Selkie?” Allison interjects curiously.

Scott looks at her a little awkwardly, “The pack dealt with it. Don’t take it as an affront to your skills with a bow and arrow, I know how great you are, I just didn’t really want to get you involved when we could take care of it by ourselves.”

Stiles looks between the two of them for a moment and then reaches out to Lydia, hesitates and doesn’t actually touch her, and says, “So Lydia,” drawing out the ‘a’, “Hey! We haven’t spoken in a while, what’s up with you?”

Lydia allows herself to be coaxed a little way down the hall while Allison and Scott waver opposite each other. When they seem to be out of earshot Scott splutters, “Sorry for saying it’s weird. The situation was, not you guys. And the situation wasn’t- I mean. I’m happy for you if you’re happy, which you obviously are, and I’m cool with it. Not that you need my permission or blessing or whatever, of course not. But I’m just letting you know that you have it, and my acceptance, and well wishes? Again, not that you need it…”

He’s babbling earnestly and Allison puts a hand on his arm to stop him, “I’m glad that I have it.”

The corners of Scott’s mouth tilt up and she can’t help teasingly adding “Not that I need it,” to make him break out into a full laugh.

“Scott!” Stiles calls, and they look over to see him gesturing down the hall to where Erica, Boyd and Isaac are all waiting, hovering patiently but casting expectant looks at Scott. Allison is suddenly glad for him too, that these people seem to have worked themselves into some sort of cohesive team and that Scott has friends, plural, now and a place to belong.

He presses a quick, dry kiss to her cheek and walks off with a casual, “See you ‘round, Allison Argent.”

“You too Scott McCall,” she shouts after him, ignoring the other students in the hallway, “Call me if you need help with selkie type stuff!”

He throws a hand in the air to acknowledge it but doesn’t turn around. Allison watches Isaac swing an arm around his shoulders when he reaches his friends and pull him in the direction of the cafeteria and the others follow while Lydia gravitates back to her.

“Good conversation?” she asks, reaching out to brush Allison’s fringe back behind her ear.

Allison meets her questioning gaze and can’t help smiling, “Yeah.”

“Great,” Lydia says as her eyes darken and her hand drops to Allison’s shoulder. She eases her back against the nearest locker, pushing herself up against her as Allison wraps her arms around her neck and grins.

“Now where were we?”


End file.
